Mass Effect: A Fornax Production
by Mothbanquet
Summary: Short OC comedy. Acerbic erotic movie director Jon Freeman is in a bit of a pickle. He is tasked with creating Call of Booty, the most ambitious and expensive porn flick in Fornax's history. Can he and his long-suffering elcor producer Xantar deliver the goods or will they end up with their own private parts in orbit around Illium?
1. Chapter 1

**A FORNAX PRODUCTION**

_By: Mothbanquet_

**Scene One**

Thousands of stars filled the window; a vast sea of tiny white specks that slid across the great void with a soothing lethargy.

The window itself was a glaring structural weakness, Iu'Sa noted dourly as her milky eyes scanned the bulkhead and the quarian wanted to shake her head at such an obvious indulgence. Given the turian cruiser's size however, she supposed that such a small gap in their defences could not be so easily exploited. Perhaps she finally had to admit to herself that the ship had cast a spell over her, so reluctant was she to acknowledge its flaws and then so quick to excuse them.

Her curiosity was only heightened as she glanced around the large cabin. Turians were usually the first ones to sacrifice comfort for operational efficiency and never would she have dreamed that one of their captains could desire such an extravagant surplus of personal space. After the cramped, crowded decks of the _Eline_, the liberation Iu'Sa felt at being able to stretch her lithe muscles was exhilarating and she pressed her arms out in front of her with an almost wondrous sense of glee.

The captain padded softly across the cabin, her exosuit creaking gently while the richly embroidered fabric of her violet hood rippled in the wake of a ventilation current overhead. Her slim hand stretched out to caress one of the fine ornamental tapestries that hid the sterile bulkheads and savoured the touch of woven alien cloth, as if she could feel it even beneath the suit.

A particularly stunning piece hung before her, a scene of some distant war fought before the turians had even left their home world of Palaven. A heroic officer was depicted, holding aloft a primitive firearm as he rallied his men around him. Below, a large plaque detailed commanding officers in their hundreds, and Iu'Sa realised the legion that had graciously granted her an audience must have been centuries, if not millennia old. Again the excesses of this ship's captain stunned her and Iu'sa had to pry herself away before one of the officers could arrive and accuse her of trying to steal the relic.

A control panel at the entrance to the cabin chimed, startling her. She braced herself to receive company but the door remained still and after a few moments of tension, she relaxed.

'Keelah,' she whispered under her breath as she brought a hand to her visor in embarrassment,'if it wasn't so quiet here I wouldn't be jumping at the smallest sound.' She ambled back to the window and stared absently into the black depths. 'Some captain I am. The first exchange between turian and quarian warships in over a century that doesn't end with them chasing us out of the system and I'm gaping at every little thing like a damn kid on her Pilgrimage.'

'You know, talking to yourself is the first stage of space-cabin fever,' said a deep voice behind her.

Iu'Sa gasped audibly and spun on her heels. She hadn't heard the cabin door open and she fought not to show her surprise at the interruption.

'I-I assume you are the great General Maximus?' she asked, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.

The turian who faced her grinned, spreading strong mandibles the colour of charred wood. His face was painted, like most of his kind, with a sharp yet delicate white pattern that traced every contour of his features. He wore no armour, opting instead for a straight-lined, mahogany-hued suit that hugged his muscular physique. His obvious strength resonated in his voice and the warm flanging of his vocal chords sent a flutter through Iu'Sa's stomach.

'General Naughtius Maximusat your service,' he said with a shallow bow. 'I see my reputation precedes me.'

'It was hard _not_ to hear of your famous exploits in...' the quarian paused and Maximus smiled further at the blush that rose faintly beneath her helmet, '...Nubian's Expanse.'

Maximus chuckled and stepped forward, stopping mere inches from Iu'Sa. The general was a head taller than her, and he lowered his voice to a husky drawl that made her shudder with excitement. 'I believe the correct term is _the_ _Nubian_ Expanse, my good captain. Besides, those stories are mostly exaggerated.'

'Oh, is that so, General?' Iu'Sa said in mock surprise. 'From what I hear, the actions you fought in those regions were very...heated...indeed. They say your broadside was at least twice the size of your enemy's.'

'It doesn't matter how many guns you field,' he answered, 'only how long your range is.'

To her astonishment, Iu'Sa found she could not move. Her body tingled with delight as the general brought his hands up to her face and, with infinite care, slowly drew back her hood. 'General Maximus,' she whispered shakily, 'I thought you wanted to conduct goodwill negotiations?'

Maximus cupped her face and stared into her eyes. 'I was thinking more of a...thrusting advance...'

Iu'Sa gasped as the general's fingers brushed against the curves of her suit, pulling her body into his. She couldn't understand it; her nerve stim suite was not even active and yet her abdomen clenched tightly at his touch, the muscles bunching and releasing in waves of undiluted ecstasy. Maximus' rough hands moved down to her suit seals but went no further.

'It's all right,' she murmured as she sensed his hesitation, 'I made the necessary…preparations…'

He parted her suit at the hips and smiled hungrily at the sheen of protective clear steri-film beneath. 'I see you like to keep these negotiations...under wraps.'

Maximus' bed was large and the sheets were folded with military precision. Their perfect, crisp lines were ruined as the pair eased themselves down and the cabin grew heavy with the sounds of Iusa's soft, yearning moans.

'Captain,' Maximus said under his breath, his hand reaching beneath her suit, 'your scent is as a summer breeze in the fine parks of Cipritine.' His fingers reached down as Iu'Sa arched her back. 'Your skin is as soft as the-'

'Cut!' cried out a strained voice.

Ganorn rose to his feet, gracelessly levering himself off the young quarian beneath him, and stared angrily at his director. For his part, the human returned his glare with little more than a cocked eyebrow.

'Garn, when I said "feel free to change a word or two", I didn't mean go off on a literary bender about how nice the gardens of Palaven are this time of year. I just meant try and _act naturally_ for a bloody change. Or as naturally as you can get without cutting open your head and installing a new brain, preferably belonging to someone who actually _can_ act.'

'Act?' Ganorn bit back. '_Act_? You think this pathetic collection of double entendres qualifies as a script worthy of my talents? I've seen better examples of literature scrawled across bathroom walls on Omega!'

'All right then,' Freeman sighed, raising his eyebrows as if in deep contemplation. 'Let me say this another way. Either you finally pull off a take we can actually use in the bloody movie or I'll have you thrown off set and brutally hacked to death with a large knife.'

The turian raised his hands defensively. 'For the last time, if you expect me to utter another bawdy remark about the size of my 'main gun' then I swear I will march right out the door. My agent explained all this to you last week, Freeman, and I won't waste my time with this degrading filth any further if you insist on perpetuating these revolting stereotypes. I mean, for one…' Ganorn strode to one of the prop tapestries lining the set, '…this scene here. Every turian knows that General Antonidus commanded the Eighth Legion, not the Fifth! If you must use such timeless icons of our history then-'

'Look, you bird-necked cretin!' Freeman snapped as he ran a hand through his curly black hair, 'Nobody cares about which group of malnourished malcontents your inbred distant uncles cajoled into joining that collection of reformed war criminals you call the Hierarchy. Just because Mister Antonidus killed enough whining secessionists to earn himself a spot with his face safely buried in the Primarch's groin, doesn't change the fact that all you need to do is keep your mouth shut and _bang_ the supple young quarian in front of you.'

Though Freeman couldn't be certain, Ganorn seemed to have grown pale with anger and the turian took several deep breaths, his nostril slits flaring widely. 'How dare you!' he hissed. 'This is totally unacceptable! I am Ganorn Firaxis! I have won awards on Palaven and Thessia for my portrayal of Hanzar Kuul! I am of the distinguished Cipritine Artists Guild and I do not deserve this!'

Pulling on his clothes, the actor stormed off set, bringing with him a trail of white linen as the sheets snagged in his trousers.

Meekly, the young quarian actress pushed herself from the bed and began to fasten the catches on her suit. 'Um…Mister Freeman?' Kia'Toresh Nar Qwib Qwibasked tentatively. 'May I take a break? I mean, if that's all right?'

'Hm? Oh yes, and you might as well take that suit of yours to the laundrette while you're at it, Kia. The way Garn's acting – and I use the term very loosely in his case – we'll be lucky to get this bloody scene finished before the local star goes supernova.'

'He does seem very angry,' Kia said as she shuffled nervously off set. 'I hope he comes around soon.'

'Fat chance of that,' Freeman scoffed. A swell of noise had risen around him as the crew discussed their business and the small cast rehearsed the few lines they had. It sounded far more industrious than it actually was and for a moment Freeman considered simply setting up the next scene in spite of Ganorn's absence.

'Another day wasted,' he muttered. 'And for the record, the Cipritine Artists Guild chucked him out years ago. Did you know that, Xantar?'

The elcor, who had remained patiently silent up until this point, let out a deep, rumbling sigh. 'Wearily; no.'

'It's true. They were holding their annual gathering when Garn burst into the establishment completely drunk and very, very naked save for a very, very small hat. Normally I'd say that's par for the course as far as turians go but they just so happened to be hosting an event with the respectable Dalinaga Theatrical Company of Thessia and in the space of fourteen minutes, Garn had molested a matriarch, urinated in the Serrice brandy and passed out in Master of Ceremonies' lap. Ordinarily I'd give the man a medal but he still maintains this feeble charade of still being someone of note in the turian acting fraternity.'

Xantar shook his head slowly. 'With brutal honesty: you are blowing this out of proportion again, John. Ganorn is a classically trained actor forced into pornography, it is to be expected that he will take time to adjust. He merely wishes to preserve some of his former dignity. Tentative suggestion; it may help if you correctly pronounce his name.'

'What are you talking about?'

'With mild frustration; you have called him Garn since his arrival. His name is Ganorn. Perhaps if you maintain the illusion of respect, he would be much easier to work with.'

Freeman waved his hand dismissively. 'Perhaps he should've made that a little clearer on his head shots, instead of taking up the entire page with his big, fat, bird-necked cranium. I mean here I am, trying to make a true masterpiece of erotic cinema, something the galaxy has never seen the likes of before, and I find myself foiled by a washed up old sod who still thinks he has some sort of relevance in the intergalactic acting community. Having one of the greats of turian theatre should have been a creative coup for us. Instead we're running so far behind schedule the salarians are being forced to discover another layer of space-time continuum just to keep up.'

Xantar shifted impatiently and his mouth flaps twitched in irritation. Sometimes humans were so difficult to work with. So impatient were they, their emotions a veritable whirlwind at times. Still, the producer had a job to do and he turned away from Freeman as his voice rumbled. 'Pointed dismissal; please excuse me, John. I must go and meet the one person keeping this movie afloat. Milana Orenya is coming here to personally oversee things and I must explain to her that yet another day has passed without result. Worriedly; when Fornax is forced to send one of its executives over to intervene, it usually spells trouble for the director.'

Freeman forced a smile as Xantar lumbered away. 'Oh, don't worry about me, dear friend. I think you'll find I have everything under control.'

**_~~AFP~~_**

Kia sighed heavily and adjusted the immuno-boosters on her exosuit. At this rate she would not need them, she thought to herself as she perched on the edge of a hard chair. At her side, on a small table, stood specialised refreshments in the shape of water, energy drinks and tubes of completely unappetising nutrient paste. After a moment of indecision, she reached for one of the water bottles and looked down uncertainly.

Her suit was not the one she had been gifted by her mother. Twitching nervously, she ran a hand along the strange material and quietly marvelled at the expense Fornax would surely have incurred in making it. Her own people would have had to amass a fortune to pay for one of this quality, though the sealed slits between her legs made its purpose too obvious for the ensemble to be worn outside the studio. It seemed quarians were much-valued in the field of galactic erotica, certainly enough to have their needs tailored to in such a way.

'This one is concerned with your downcast expression, Kia,' spoke a light voice at her side. 'Is something wrong?'

Kia looked up to see Pallo floating patiently next to her. Though the hanar had no facial features whatsoever, she sensed his concern keenly and smiled beneath the thick glass of her visor. 'It's nothing, Pallo. I just have a bit of a stomach ache is all.'

'It would hate to make reckless assumptions, but have you been eating properly?'

'Maybe not as much as I should,' Kia replied and clutched a hand to her stomach absently. 'The thing is, the suit feels tight enough as it is and, you know how the camera bot adds ten pounds…'

'This is not good for you, not when you are shooting so many scenes,' Pallo interrupted gently. 'It humbly submits that you should consume more before you do yourself harm. Please, Kia, if not for yourself, then for this one.'

Shyly, the quarian fumbled with her induction ports before nodding slowly. 'All right. I kept the leftover nutrient paste from last night anyway. Thank you, Pallo. I guess I just needed some sense talked into me.'

A soft, shimmering tentacle rested delicately on her shoulder. 'It senses you are unhappy. Is it Ganorn's behaviour?'

'No…' Kia sighed. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap, constantly folding over one another in an awkward dance. 'I was just thinking of home, that's all. My parents, my friends, I can't imagine what they'd say if they knew I was doing this.'

'Ah yes, your 'Pilgrimage'? It is sure they will understand. No doubt there have been many others who have been forced down certain paths to pay their way back to their people. It cannot be helped.'

'I wish I had your optimism,' Kia sighed. 'Right now I'd give anything to be back home, dancing with my friends, or listening to my father tell another boring story about his days fighting batarian pirates. It's strange how you end up missing the small things when you leave.'

The tip of Pallo's body flashed with a gentle light and he raised a tentacle thoughtfully. 'Homesickness is a powerful instrument of loyalty. It thinks that you will not remember these days when you are safely back among your people. Either way, you will certainly not be poor among them.'

'I guess you're right,' she replied and her pale eyes narrowed slightly under the soft pressure of her smile. 'I really needed to hear that, Pallo. Thank you.'

Pallo straightened. His tone became more polite even than usual and Kia wanted to giggle at his mock formality. 'This one considers you a friend, Kia'Toresh. It would be rude _not_ to meddle in your affairs.'

The companions laughed quietly as the noise of the studio washed over them.

**_~~AFP~~_**

'Who does he think he is?' Ganorn grumbled as he crossed his arms angrily. The action nearly let the white towelthat hugged his waist slip and he scrambled to tighten it before it could fall. He cursed softly under his breath, eager to place a hex of any kind on Freeman, preferably one that targeted the human's groin. 'Why did he insist I begin the next scene completely nude? That whelp couldn't direct traffic on Taetrus, let alone a motion picture of any kind. It's clear he's never worked with someone of my calibre before.'

Dana Nylendi yawned beside him and muttered a half-hearted agreement. The asari was growing tired of Ganorn's constant complaining and yet could not even summon the motivation to simply walk away from him. Instead, she focused her attention on the script, her hands making the datapad clammy and moist. 'I wonder how long this is 'gonna take,' she grumbled. 'We're already running three weeks late and I have to shoot two more movies next week. I can't afford to stick around this long.'

Ganorn huffed in frustration and glanced at Dana. Her lithe, supple form was swathed in a luxurious gown and her face seemed to capture all the famed beauty of the asari as faintly glowing tattoos painted delicate patterns along the top of her head. In a single moment, his anger was all but forgotten.

'Yes,' the turian replied distractedly. 'Yes, it would be a shame if you had to leave.' Clearing his throat, Ganorn adjusted his towel and he realised he was suddenly very nervous. 'Perhaps we should discuss what to do later?'

Dana arched her brows. 'What's to discuss? Foreplay, blowjob, missionary, doggy and a facial to top it off. Seems pretty standard to me, unless I'm missing something? Oh…did I forget a position? I told Freeman already, I can't do the ambitious stuff with a turian, your fringe makes it really-'

'N-no, not at all!' Ganorn stammered. Her bluntness never ceased to take him aback. 'I meant after the shoot, when we're done. I was wondering if you had any plans?'

'No…' the asari replied idly and rested a hand under her chin. 'I was going on a date tonight but now I'm way too tired with all this waiting around. Besides, I think I'm all clubbed out as far as Ilium goes. I think I'll just read a few scripts and get some rest.'

'A…date?' asked Ganorn, his throat feeling dry all of a sudden. 'Well, yes, of course I'm sure you have plenty of um…prospects. Still, I'm sure I can find something new to-'

A loud chime rang through the set, interrupting him and before he could continue Dana had begun to stride towards the dressing rooms. 'Well, that was a waste of another day,' she muttered angrily, 'See you tomorrow.'

'Yes…goodbye…' Ganorn responded quietly as he watched the asari disappear from sight. With a dejected sigh he padded towards his own room, furious at his own inelegance.

**_~~AFP~~_**

Listor and Rima glanced at one another briefly. The salarians had only just arrived after their morning nap and their appearances were even more dishevelled than usual, with a loose collection of casual robes hanging from their slender frames, smattered with a wide variety of stains both food and miscellaneous. They each clutched a datapad in their bony fingers and the tapping of keys could just be heard above their random mumblings as they tasted ideas on their lips.

'Still no title?' Listor asked without raising his eyes from the screen.

'No,' Rima replied. 'But I have worked in a very nice addition to Dana's scene with Pallo.'

'You remember what Freeman said,' Listor warned. 'He said that additions are strictly off the books at this point. If we don't come up with a title and ending by the end of the week then he'll,quote: "nail our genitalia to the airlock door and let the vacuum do the rest" unquote.'

Rima sighed, his smooth orange skin glistening. 'Shame. I just noticed an orifice we haven't used and Pallo has the tentacles to spare. I hate to let things go to waste, you know that.'

'Yes, yes, I know. Still, the sooner we can decide on an ending, the sooner we can get off this damned station and back down to Illium.'

'Ah yes, Illium,' Rima exclaimed, 'how could I deny myself the opportunity to pass by all the other respectable families with their well-paid jobs and unassailable breeding positions? I have two cousins on Illium alone who are in negotiations and they've practically only just left their blasted clutch.'

Listor shrugged apathetically. 'You could always find yourself an asari. At least they don't require contracts. More satisfying too, from what I hear, though you have to wonder at the mentality of any salarian who values favourable sensations over good, honest hereditary traits.'

'Again, you assume that just because I gripe, I'm unhappy. You should well know that only when an artist stops complaining is something seriously wrong. I'm merely venting my frustrations because we are supposed to be thinking of an ending and once again our efforts are descending into a sordid discussion about breeding.'

'Well,we _are_ writers, after all.'

Listor's words faded, mixing into the slurring bustle as the cast and crew finished their day's work and shuffled away in the directions of the transit shuttles. Rima let out a deep breath. Another day, another chance to be productive spent like his meagre wages.

'Perhapsit's time I considered another line of work,' he mumbled, 'Maybe the games industry. I have a distant half-cousin who works for the developer that did Galaxy of Fantasy. Surely I'd get more satisfaction from writing epic plots and characters for rich worlds that transcend imagination?'

'Perhaps,' Listor replied, 'Though you'd never get to see any naked females ever again. Of any species.'

Rima nodded and turned his attention back to his datapad. 'Touché.'

**_~~AFP~~_**

Milana Orenya's lips curled slightly into a subtle grimace. It was a rare expression of emotion for the asari and the only obvious sign that her distaste at the gaudy lighting and constant stench of sweat and lotion was becoming too great to contain. As a Fornax executive, she should have been used to such things, but the multitude of mundane details irked her even more than usual that day.

Her thin arms were folded across her chest, creasing her dull grey business dress and a gentle tapping rose as her fingers drummed ceaselessly against her arms. Her impatience was all too evident and Xantar's nerves grew more fractious with every impact between finger and suit. The elcor shifted uncomfortably, unable to find a suitable angle at which to rest his enormous hands.

Finally, in what seemed to be the first audible manifestation of her frustration, Milana expelled a deep breath of air from her nostrils.

'Two months,' she said coldly, 'two months behind schedule and two hundred-thousand credits over budget. Care to offer an explanation, Xantar?'

The producer visibly struggled for words. He shifted slightly and tilted his massive head before rumbling an answer. 'Unconvincingly; yes.'

Milana closed her eyes in a moment of exasperation. 'Unconvincingly? That doesn't sound very reassuring.'

'With forced humour; it only seems so to me. Let us just say that these delays have come about purely because Mister Freeman wants to ensure the best possible release. He is a perfectionist at heart, and he is correct in his declaration that there has not been a more ambitious erotic movie in living memory.'

'All right, Xantar,' said Milana as she brought up a hand to massage her throbbing temples, 'let's just take a step back here. Two months ago you and Freeman made a pitch in my office. You assured me that within a few weeks Fornax would have a product that would bring a refined sheen to its reputation, something that – in your words – would "change the face of erotic entertainment forever". Two months down the line, all you've given me is a daily migraine. Now, what you have to understand is that Fornax has been making a very tidy profit for many years, and part of the reason for that success is that both production and distribution have been very cheap. This bloated monstrosity of a production has been nothing but a disaster from day one.'

'Reasoned rebuke,' Xanter interjected, 'this goes beyond money. Fornax's reputation for debased, tasteless xenophilia is a detriment to its long-term standing. Earnestly; this movie will change the way everyone views your company and what it sells.'

'That 'tasteless xenophilia' is one of the galaxy's biggest businesses. Extranet sales alone account for over half our annual profits,' Milana snapped back, her patience fraying, 'but that's not the point here. Two months ago a significant investment was made and you can be assured that if it was anyone else in my position, they'd have shut you down a long time ago.'

'Curiously; why haven't you?'

The asari bit her lip. She could not tell him that she had spent the night previous to their contract signing in Eternity, doing shots and flirting outrageously with the matriarch barwoman. She couldn't even remember putting her signature to that document and when she realised what had happened, she sure as hell couldn't go back on it without drawing attention. Pursing her brow irritably, Milana clenched her teeth. One night of excess had nearly cost her everything and now she was forced to dance the fine line between success and failure. Certainly, that line seemed far behind her at that moment.

'That's none of your business,' she said finally. Xantar gave her a quizzical look but Milana went on before he could speak again. 'Fornax is expecting a finished product, Xantar. If you can't deliver that then my options are very limited. You have three days to turn this around. If I don't see any progress by then, I'm going to be forced to pull the plug on the whole thing.'

'Shocked exclamation; that is too extreme. A great deal has already been done and it would be foolish to throw that away.'

Milana shrugged. 'It's no concern of mine. You've had more than enough time and money to throw together something we can actually sell. I suggest speaking to Freeman before you finish up for the day. I don't have the patience to repeat myself to that creep.'

With that, Milana strode off briskly, visibly eager to be away from the set as quickly as possible. Xantar stood perfectly still as his mind worked to find a solution to his predicament but nothing came.

**_~~AFP~~_**

'Three days?' Freeman asked, his voice high with disbelief. 'Well, thank God you didn't tell her about Garn, that's all I can say. If she knew that mindless simpleton was being so rebellious she'd have hijacked the nearest asari dreadnought and used it to redistribute our bodily parts across the entire system. What did you say to her?'

'Defensive; what could I say, John?' Xantar argued. 'I suspected she was annoyed but I did not anticipate she would go this far.'

Freeman clasped a clammy hand to his forehead. 'This is bad, Xantar. We need a plan. Garn's the one holding this whole thing up and it's too late to find someone else. There's nothing for it. We'll have to offer him more money. Hopefully it'll be enough for him to finally cast aside that desiccated carcass, otherwise known as his dignity.'

'Sceptical; John, I think the whole reason Ganorn is being so difficult lies with your dismissal of his artistic integrity. Worriedly; simply throwing more money at him will likely have the opposite effect. Perhaps a diplomatic approach would be preferable.'

Nodding, Freeman stepped close to him, lowering his voice as several groups of crew streamed past them. 'You'd best handle that, then. You've always been the more diplomatic one and I'm certainly in no mood to tell Garn that he has power of life and death over this whole debacle.'

'Enthusiastic agreement; very well. I will speak to him first thing in the morning.'

'Good. With any luck, we'll be on our way to fame and fortune by dinner time.'

His mood lifted, Xantar dipped his head and turned away with all the outward enthusiasm his kind were capable of mustering. His heavy footfalls thumped in Freemans ears until he disappeared from sight and the director finally let out a deep, weary breath. The set had grown quiet now the working day was over and in the distance he could hear the muted hum of shuttle engines as they left the hangar.

'You know,' Freeman said aloud, raising his voice. 'Sometimes I wonder at the legitimacy of this famed 'asari wisdom'. If that Orenya woman had any sense whatsoever she'd shut this steaming pile of vorcha droppings down without a second thought. This movie is quite possibly the worst idea since Sirta came up with krogan contraceptives.'

A thin, heavily distorted voice answered behind him, its wheezing tones broken by the steady hiss of a helmet rebreather. 'I don't know about that, Mister Freeman,'Moxi Par replied optimistically. The volus held a datapad awkwardly in his short, stubby three-fingered grip, though Freeman could not help but notice the device was upside-down. 'I thought the rehearsals went very well today. Up until Mister Firaxis stormed off-set, of course.'

Freeman frowned and turned sharply to face Moxi . 'That wasn't a rehearsal, Moxi, that was an actual take.'

The volus took in several deep breaths, clearly weighing up his error. 'Ah. I suppose I should have turned the cameras on, then.'

Freeman brought up a hand and rubbed his face tiredly. Moxi was the studio's only cameraman, an indentured servant acquired when a volus trading vessel had paid the studio a visit and Xantar negotiated a contract for cheap lubricants and lotions. It was only now that Freeman had begun to consider the possibility that Moxi's people had actually thrown the little moron into the bargain for a reason.

'So,' the director began wearily, 'all this time, when I've shouted the word 'action', what did you think I meant?'

Moxi paused and the rhythmic hiss of his respirator made Freeman's hands clutch convulsively, his murderous frustration barely contained. 'To be honest, Mister Freeman, I have been meaning to ask what you meant by that.'

'I see. So when you told me that you've had five years' experience as a cameraman, you meant…?'

Moxi puffed out his chest proudly. 'Fifty-seven voyages spent watching the sensors of the very vessel that provided my service! I was responsible for manning the early-warning systems and notifying the captain of incoming ships. It was very close to camera work.'

'Fifty-seven voyages,' Freeman began and placed his hands on his hips. 'And may I ask how many times your vessel was boarded by pirates?'

'Fifty-seven times, Sir,' Moxi replied hesitantly, 'though I was just unlucky. The sensors were all facing backwards, a mistake anyone could have made. I'd only just fixed them before the crew placed me here.'

Freeman looked away, an utter lack of surprise painting his features. Moxi's suspiciously cheap price was no longer a mystery.

'All right,' Freeman announced, clasping his hands together, 'I think that's enough pain and misery for one day. By all means, my porcine, malodorous little friend, feel free to eject yourself out of the nearest garbage disposal unit. If, by some misfortune, you happen to be here in the morning please remember to switch the cameras on.'

'No problem, Mister Freeman, you can count on me! Would you like some company tonight? I know a rather excellent batarian bar down on the surface with the most delightful patrons. I'm sure I can find a good Skyllian Five table?'

'No, no,' Freeman muttered as he walked off. 'Please don't take this personally, Moxi, but I'd rather swallow a bowlful of helium-3 and hold a light-your-fart competition. Have a good night, Moxi. Or don't, I really couldn't care less.'

The infuriatingly intrusive sound of Moxi's breathing followed Freeman all the way to the shuttle bay and the human closed his eyes in irritation. He could only wonder what joys the next day would bring.


	2. Chapter 2

**A FORNAX PRODUCTION**

_By: Mothbanquet_

**Scene Two**

The hold of the slaver vessel was a dank, filthy pit of metal and rust. Hazy shafts of sickly light spilled across the deck, highlighting vile stains of brown and green, as well as dark scars where vorcha had sunk their claws in, struggling against their captors. It was a place filled with the hollow clanks of machinery and rattling of chains, where despair bled from the dirty walls and the terrified cries of slaves past could be heard as ghostly echoes in the silence.

Orea Lovewind gazed around, her normally stoic expression now filled with a burning hatred of the men who held her. An asari Justicar would be a valuable prize in any slaver's collection and she was forced to recall every one of her sutras in an effort to think of a way out. The tenets of the Code were her tools and yet when she grasped for them, they slipped just out of reach. It was maddening and yet Orea knew whatever the pirate crew had in store for her, it would not be pretty. She had to escape, and quickly.

Her knees had begun to ache after the long hours on the cold ground. Orea tested her restraints but she had little room for movement and any small shift seemed to push more of her smooth, blue skin out of the tight, red combat suit clinging to her ample chest. She pursed her lips and worked her bound hands back and forth behind her back, trying to loosen the cuffs that held them together. It was a futile gesture. The bindings were strong and all she had succeeded in doing was to wrench her arms painfully in their sockets.

Casting her eyes to the ground, Orea fought against her fear as she felt it creep up inside her.

'There is light at the end of even the darkest tunnel,' she murmured softly, her voice little more than a hum in the empty air. 'The embrace of the Goddess awaits me, even should I fail. The Code guides my actions but it does not gift me with strength. That I must find within myself.'

Orea's words returned to her, echoing from the bare walls. She closed her eyes sadly at their quivering resonance, at the lack of control in them. A Justicar was supposed to be in a state of perpetual calm, a collected figure of peace and clear-thinking, no matter how dire the circumstances. Perhaps it was simply her surroundings, meant to break the wills of all inside, or maybe it was simply her own will ebbing away. Neither possibility gave her much hope.

Suddenly, a loud clang sliced the air and a great bar of gold spilled across the floor as the cargo bay's main doors opened with a metallic squeal. Orea narrowed her eyes against the glare, though made sure to keep them slightly open, a crack through which she could watch her enemy enter the room. Even if Orea could not see the distinctive floating shadow set against the blinding light, the lack of heavy footsteps on the ground would have betrayed Captain Fisty in moments.

The hanar moved slowly, his aqueous flank rippling with well-deserved pride as he approached his prisoner.

'This one hopes you have enjoyed its hospitality, Justicar,' Fisty intoned. The pirate's voice was an ethereal drone from the depths of his soft body and each sound was accompanied by a gentle flash of purple light. 'One such as yourself will make a fine addition to this one's collection.'

Orea's reply was low and smooth, though it threatened to break at any moment. 'I've heard all about your 'collections', _Captain_. I swear by the Goddess, I will not let you make me a part of them.'

'You know of its reputation,' Fisty replied, unaffected by her resolve. 'You know it is not one whose patience should be tested, nor one whose will can be ignored.'

Indeed Orea knew of the hanar's appetites. Every figure of law enforcement in the galaxy held a simultaneous disgust and grudging respect for the infamous captain, his cleverness and remarkable tactical prowess tainted by his desire for all things alien and female. It was well known that when a colony had been stripped of all its women, Captain Fisty was the one responsible. The evil of this particular jelly brought up a welling of anger deep within Orea and she turned her icy gaze up to him with barely restrained malevolence.

'I would rather die,' she hissed. The answer was the wrong one, and Orea immediately regretted it as Fisty raised shimmering tentacle to caress her face sensually.

'That would serve no one, least of all this one.'

The tentacle moved down and slithered beneath Orea's combat suit. The asari grimaced, helpless against the writhing, foreign presence on her skin and to her despair, she felt her cheeks flush. Fisty's movements became firmer and Orea tried to stifle a gasp of pleasure as the tentacle probed and rubbed against her body, a worming line under the pliable red material of her suit. As much as it repulsed her, her body betrayed the knowledge Fisty seemed to possess. Every motion was calculated to excite. He was gentle in one moment, then harsh in the next and always in just the right spots. To Orea's horror, she found herself aching for him to continue.

Orea shuddered as her suit fell from her shoulders and the frigid air hit her exposed flesh like a wave.

'You bastard,' she said, shivering with both cold and pleasure. Though it was impossible to truly tell, she could have sworn Fisty was smiling as he raised another tentacle to her mouth.

'Prepare to be boarded. Justicar.'

Orea tried to resist but the feel of Fisty's slick appendages on her body had awakened desires she had long since buried after taking her oaths. She felt them now, like hands on her back, pushing her to embrace her wants and accept the pleasure the pirate king could bring. Slowly, reluctantly, Orea opened her mouth.

Suddenly, Dana stopped. Something was off. Her eyes darted about the set and her professional instincts screamed at her for doing so but it was certainly there; something was definitely amiss. Closing her lips, she leaned forward towards Pallo's outstretched limb and took a deep sniff. That was it.

Cringing, she pulled back. 'Ew, Pallo! Wrong tentacle!'

The hanar immediately shrunk back, horrified and his voice shook. 'This one is sorry! It was certain it had the correct one! It cannot begin to apologise enough!'

'_Cut_!' Freeman groaned. At the edge of the set, perched on a small and desperately uncomfortable director's chair, he ran a hand over his face to massage the loose, pasty flesh.

'And here I thought we were doing so well.' He gestured to his right, where Moxi tinkered with a camera bot, his very body language betraying the fact that he had no clue what he was doing. 'Moxi had the cameras rolling for once, Dana was being her usual, gloriously slutty self and best of all, it's not even one of Garn's scenes. Of course it was all too good to be true. Something _had_ to go wrong somewhere, though the source of disaster surprises even me. In all the space-sets in all the galaxy, I didn't expect Pallo of all people to present the potty-tentacle.'

As Freeman continued to mourn the loss of another take, Pallo lowered himself slowly to the ground. He shivered gently, relaying in the way of the hanar his own distress and mortification as he helped scoop up Dana's costume from the ground. 'Please accept its apologies, Dana, this one doesn't know what came over it. Usually it can tell which tentacle is which, but-'

'Just forget it,' the asari snapped, unable to contain her irritation. Instantly she closed her eyes, wincing at her lack of grace. 'Sorry, I just need a break. This has been a really long day and I didn't get much sleep last night.'

'This one understands. Please, it compels you to get some rest. It does not think Freeman will mind a short delay.'

Freeman's voice snapped out across the set as the slaver hold backdrop fizzled out of view behind them to reveal drab grey studio walls. 'Oh no you don't! We've got a scant forty-eight hours to turn this disaster into a movie and I'm not wasting any more time. Besides, I didn't get that batarian drunk by accident, you know. I worked hard to nick those slave cuffs and collar and we're bloody well going to use them! Get back to your marks, we're rolling straight away.'

Dana sighed angrily and shook her head. The pressures of being a professional were great at times.

'Let's just get this over with,' she muttered. Shuffling on the spot to relieve her aching knees, she allowed another comment to Pallo as the hanar floated gently away. 'At least this'll all be over in a couple of days, one way or another.'

Pallo stopped in his weightless tracks. Turning, his voice held a great degree of concern. 'Really? What have you heard?'

_*****AFP*****_

Xantar struggled to hide his frustration, even behind his expressionless, leathery grey features. His massive arms were bunched with tension, two pillars of solid muscle that looked capable of caving a soft salarian skull in. It was an image Rima couldn't get out of his mind as his writing partner Listor continued to ramble, oblivious to the elcor's growing anger; which, considering their species complete lack of emotional indicators, was quite a feat in itself.

'It's not ethical,' the salarian complained haughtily. His brown skin glistened as his head moved from side to side, shaking with every syllable he produced. 'History is littered with stories of the deprived, the oppressed and the downtrodden and I assure you, Xantar, this affront will be remembered as one such injustice, one that will go down in history as a true example of deprivation, oppression and…downtreading!'

'With barely-concealed anger,' Xantar rumbled, 'the cessation of your supply of Tupari sports drink was a necessity. Aside from the obvious implications the beverage was having on your health, the rate of consumption far exceeded our budget. That you have so readily admitted to the purchases of such vast quantities is the only reason I am not looking more closely into the matter. Bluntly; if you want more Tupari sports drink, you will have to earn it.'

'What do you mean 'earn' it?' Listor bit back, waving his arm in the air. 'Have we not earned it already? Thanks to us, you have a masterpiece of a script, worthy of Dilinaga's epics! Need I remind you of the _ass relay _joke in scene three? Or the rapier wit employed by General Maximus just before battering Captain Fisty to death with his own multi-tentacle strap-on?'

Sighing, Xantar shook his head. 'Dismissively; the words "go fuck yourself – literally" can hardly be called wit. And pointedly; all of Matriarch Dalinaga's writings had endings. And titles.'

'This is an outrage!' Listor replied. He was growing more agitated and Rima glanced at him with increasing exasperation. 'Not only do you deprive us of sweet, delicious Tupari sports drink, but besmirch our talents as writers too! That's it – we're on strike!'

Quickly, Rima took hold of Listor's thin wrist and offered Xantar a placating smile. 'Please, mighty producer, don't take my friend here too seriously. He's just been up all night and he's a little bit cranky. We'll get along just fine without the Tupari for now.'

Xantar inclined his massive head. 'Curiously; salarians only need one galactic hour's rest per night. What kept him awake?'

Rima's fleshy pink lips drew back meekly. 'Uh…Tupari sports drink.'

Groaning, Xantar turned from the pair of salarians and lumbered away, muttered to himself in his bass tones. 'Wearily; I'm getting too old for this.'

As the heavy thump of elcor footsteps receded, Rima gave Listor a firm slap on the back of his head.

'Look, I told you before about this. All that Tupari is rotting your brain and those additives are driving you crazy! If you don't get help soon then we'll be out of a job forever!' The salarian turned his dark eyes up to the ceiling in lamentation. 'Of all the things to get addicted to, why did you choose a freaking energy drink? Why couldn't you do red sand? At least then you'd have a shot at getting in deep with the big wigs, but _no_. Instead you get hopelessly drawn to the one substance that drives three quarters of the Galaxy of Fantasy user base. No flashy dealer, no high-class sand parties, nothing but sleepless nights and soiled mattresses.'

Rima blinked as he realised Listor had curled up into a little ball on the ground and was simply lying there, shivering.

'But it's made with ten per cent tupo berry juice, don't you know?' Listor babbled, his eyes staring at an undetermined source. 'It's good for you, so very good. Commander Shepard drinks Tupari sports drink, don't you know? Don't you want to be like Commander Shepard? I know I do, yes indeed.'

Rima gave the incoherent pile of bones and skin a hard kick before sighing despondently. 'And here I thought addiction and sleep deprivation were solid traits for a writer.'

The frenzied rambling would continue for at least another fifteen minutes, Rima knew and so he took out his datapad. Time was precious and if they didn't produce the goods there would be little payment, or none whatsoever to spend on delicious, refreshing Tupari sports drink or otherwise.

_*****AFP*****_

'Take it from me, honey,' Dana mumbled as she balanced a cigarette delicately on her gleaming blue lips, 'you're doing the right thing. Better to start now and make your money, then move on to something bigger; much, much bigger.'

Kia shuffled on the spot, unsure if she should mention that she had no intention of moving on to anything but the Migrant Fleet once Fornax's payment came through. The quarian wrapped her arms around herself, an embrace born of insecurity and awkwardness. Dana Nylendi's very presence was enough to make anyone nervous and the perfect curvature of the asari's figure, made all the more alluring by her tight-fitting costume, brought nothing but revulsion to Kia of her own body. Dana did not notice Kia's sullenness as the younger woman glanced down, mentally measuring the width of her thighs next to Dana, the shining glass of her visor picking out the set lighting as she sadly shook her head.

The asari muttered on, oblivious to Kia's silence. 'Or you could just stay on. This ain't a bad business, 'ya know, especially since the humans came to town. Used to be such a niche industry but the humans, they just _love_ this stuff, even if they don't like to admit it. I've been in front of that fucking camera for almost four hundred years and I've made more money in the past thirty than I ever did in three centuries posing for turian 'art' magazines.'

'You certainly seem to have a lot of experience,' Kia replied meekly. Her mouth-lamp dimmed as her next words were abruptly cut off before they could form.

'I mean, if you think about it, we owe the humans our livelihoods in a way. Only my own kind is anywhere near as debased and that's only for the first few centuries. Once we get out of the maiden stage it's all career, career, career. Maybe spread our legs, do the whole genetic diversity thing, push out a few blue kids, but by that time we're _long_ past getting horny over mandibles and quads.'

Blowing out a thick plume of smoke, Dana shifted her gaze across the studio to where the salarian writers were busily discussing something or other. She narrowed her eyes at them and nodded in their direction. 'Salarians, on the other hand, they have zero sex drive. Nothing. Lamest lovers in the galaxy. Good if you need an accountant but expect to keep a Rampant Rachni by your bed if you want your relationship with one to survive more than a week. Then there are the turians…'

Kia swayed slightly on the spot. Her cheeks were burning beneath her helmet and she was certain the visor could not hide their note of crimson.

'Turians are a funny bunch,' Dana lectured, gesturing with her hands and weaving a thin trail of cigarette smoke through the air. 'They're strong, great reach and flexibility, good stamina but so many pointy parts! Getting rough with one is always risky. As in a "be careful or you'll end up in hospital with a puncture wound" kind of risky. And don't even get me started on elcor; with one of those big boys on top of you, all it takes is one slip and-'

'No!' Kia interrupted frantically, her hands cutting desperate arcs through the air. 'I-I'm so sorry, Dana, but I have to…go talk to Pallo, about our scene later. Yes, that's it! Our scene later, please forgive me but I have to go talk to him! Right away! Now!'

The quarian rushed past and the flow of grey smoke from Dana's cigarette followed in her wake before swirling gently in the air. Shrugging, the asari returned her eyes to the datapad she'd almost forgotten she was holding. Suddenly, a chill reached under her false combat suit and she shivered, the fine sensation of goose bumps rising on her skin. It was nothing to do with the temperature, she knew, and Dana looked up sharply to see a turian fringe disappear behind a distant corner.

Slowly, her lips curled into a thick, sensual grin and she looked back down at the datapad, content to let Ganorn watch for the time being.

_*****AFP*****_

Pallo was still tense with the embarrassment of his earlier faux pas when Kia approached him, and it took a few seconds for the hanar to become aware of her presence. Kia stopped behind him and, not wanting to interrupt his reflections too forcefully, raised her hand and coughed gently. The sound was an ugly crackle to her ears as it filtered through her helmet amplifiers.

Pallo brightened instantly at the sound and his body glowed vibrantly at the sight of her. 'Kia! This one did not notice you approach. Apologies for being rude.'

'It was hardly your fault,' Kia responded warmly, glad to finally be in the company of someone she could talk to. 'I didn't exactly broadcast my presence.'

She bowed her head slightly, as if reluctant to continue but quickly found the courage. Her friend had been there for her, after all and she would at least try to do the same.

'I'm sorry to pry,' she began, her eyes turning away from Pallo instinctively in her awkwardness, 'but I heard about what happened with Dana earlier. Are you all right?'

She decided not to mention the exact words Dana had actually used in her complaints, knowing it would burden the already guilt-filled hanar even further. Of course, Dana had shed her own frustration with her first cigarette, the incident forgotten the moment she started reading the notes on her next scene. Pallo, however was a far gentler soul and the hue of his rubbery skin shifted into a lurid purple as the weight of his shame came to the fore once again.

'It made the most grievous of errors, something that has truly shamed this one. Oh, by the Enkindlers, what if she had actually-'

'There, there,' Kia murmured, resting a hand softly on Pallo's flank. 'Calm down, Dana is a professional. She doesn't take this sort of thing personally. You haven't offended her, so please don't think you have, okay?'

'If you say so, Kia,' he responded glumly, 'though it still feels the indignation of making such an obvious error. This one has been in the business for nearly seven years now and this the first time it has ever made such a mistake.'

'Hey, come here.' Kia reached out and took one of Pallo's tentacles in a caring grip before patting it softly with her other hand. 'Do you remember the day we first met, all those weeks ago? When I was just a new girl in a strange place, afraid and ashamed of what she was doing?'

Pallo flushed with sapphire hues. 'Of course. This one remembers as if it were yesterday.'

'Then you remember what you told me?'

'Yes,' the hanar replied solemnly. As understanding filled him, he laid a long, soft tentacle on Kia's shoulder affectionately. 'This one told you that it is all right to be afraid, to make mistakes and to feel regret. But one must not dwell on it. Only by moving forward can we escape the darker times of our lives, with our heads held high and looking to the future.'

Kia beamed happily under her visor. 'Exactly. I…I admit, when you first told me that, all I could do was wonder if hanar actually had heads to hold high.' The pair chuckled and Kia's hold on Pallo tightened, ever so slightly. 'But your words have carried me this far, and so has your friendship. You just need to believe them yourself.'

Pallo sighed, a deep sound of weary resignation. He knew the young quarian was right and, as he had come to discover, this truth was only becoming more constant as time went by.

'You are correct,' he said, finally, 'Thank you, Kia. Sometimes it is easy to forget one's own words. At times this one thinks you truly carry the wisdom of the Enkindlers within you.'

'I don't know about that,' Kia said. Tenderly, she released Pallo's tentacle and allowed it to return to his side. 'Now, I think I'll take that advice you gave me yesterday and get something to eat. Would you like to join me?'

It was difficult enough to differentiate between the moods of the hanar, considering their complete lack of facial features but Kia knew that if he had a mouth, Pallo would be smiling. The rounded tip of his body flared briefly with enthusiasm.

'That would be most agreeable, my friend,' he said, and together the pair made their way to the buffet table that had been laid out at the edge of the studio.

_*****AFF*****_

'This is the last spirit-damned straw!' Ganorn bellowed, his barking voice bringing all involved in the re-shoot to a complete halt. 'It's totally unprofessional and a…a heinous breach of character! I won't do it, Freeman!'

Freeman closed his eyes and stepped forward across the set, gingerly stepping over the loose chains and torture implements strewn across the deck of Captain Fisty's private quarters. He leaned in close, unwilling to be drawn into an undignified shouting match across the studio. Or perhaps he simply didn't want to give the turian the satisfaction of a public capitulation, Freeman couldn't be sure himself.

'Calm down, my leathery, skull-headed friend,' he said with no small amount of condescension. 'I know it's a bit extreme but what can I do?' he asked with a light shrug, 'It's in the script. Do I look like a writer?'

'It wasn't in the script _yesterday_!' Ganorn hissed back. Suddenly, he seemed to snap into paranoia, and took a quick look around for eavesdroppers before whispering harshly once again. 'I want to know why in the name of the spirits, General Maximus suddenly insists on being spanked by the Justicar until he turns purple! How exactly is that supposed to be 'in character'?'

As a strong gust of lotion-scented air enveloped him, Freeman raised his eyebrows sardonically and reluctantly turned his gaze down in appraisal of Ganorn's appearance. No longer was he wearing a turian navy uniform or comfortably luxurious suit. Instead he had been presented with a kinky set of thick leather straps and buckles, an outfit that would require great agility to actually don and would no doubt prove extremely painful to wear. In fact, Freeman surmised, it was at that precise moment Ganorn had come storming out of his dressing room in rage, his revealing new costume jingling with each step.

Freeman briefly toyed with the idea of simply telling the turian that he had written the extra scene himself and slipped it in in a moment of irresistible, delicious spite. No, he assured himself. Better he know that after the scene had actually been shot and they had something to work with.

'It's no fault of mine, Garn, I assure you,' Freeman lied smoothly. 'Now if you'll kindly get back to your mark, we can get this farce over and done with and you can go soak yourself in whatever foul over-strength, barely-legal beverage you consider appropriate for this time of day.'

'No,' Ganorn said firmly and crossed his arms in open defiance. 'I refuse to do this, Freeman. I have spent my entire life honing my craft. I didn't go through all that just to be suspended from the ceiling in this _ridiculous_ attire while an asari warms my backside with a rubber paddle! I am Ganorn Firaxis and I do not deserve this!'

'It's a wooden paddle, not rubber,' Freeman retorted. He could only imagine Xantar's horror as the elcor's requests to cater to Ganorn's ego were roundly ignored. 'And I'm certain your landlord will be more than happy to look upon your critically-acclaimed filmography when he's turfingyour possessions out into the street. I know how much you need this pay check, so don't pretend you have any choice in the matter. Now, are you going to be quiet and follow the bloody script, or are you going to descend even further into that cess pit of whiskey-drenched poverty you call a life?'

Ganorn seethed visibly, his fingers clutching the air at his sides while his mandibles flexed convulsively, aching to tear apart the arrogant human before him.

The silence stretched as even the crew stopped to take in his answer in a sudden, powerful moment of absolute stillness. The rattling of overhead ventilation ducts, the steady hum of the station's engines and life support systems, everything seemed to subside to allow him the honour of making his decision. It felt far more significant than it should have been and Ganorn knew this was a moment that would define his future and his honour. He felt the eyes of the spirits upon him, judging his worth as he made his choice.

Snatching up the paddle, he scowled. 'Rolling in five, yes?'

Hiding most of his obvious satisfaction at the victory, Freeman smiled thinly. 'I'm glad to see we can be professional about this, Garn, now hold on while we fetch Dana from her dressing room. She's refused to come out until it's been confirmed you'll do the scene.'

Pausing, the human scratched his head, ruffling his dark hair. 'Actually, come to think of it, you should tell her yourself. She might not believe me.'

'And why not?'

'Well, it's not so much she doesn't trust me, more that she seems to think you'd rather die than shoot this one scene. Perhaps she overestimated your resolve, or simply underestimated your love of being spanked, but either way I get the distinct impression she'll only believe the words from your own mouth.'

'Fine,' Ganorn grumbled. He stalked off-set, mumbling all the way.

'You know, perhaps it's the sight of Garn in kinky black leather, but I feel my luck is starting to change for the better.' Pleased with himself, Freeman turned to find Moxi waiting patiently just behind him and his expression fell instantly. 'Until now.'

The volus' stomach wobbled as he spoke. 'Mister Freeman, I just wanted to bring something to your attention.'

'If that 'something' was the fact you're a bloated moron with the intellectual agility of a boiled egg, you're far too late.'

'No, Sir,' Moxi answered and Freeman's brow furrowed at the exceptional heaviness of the alien's breathing. Something had evidently gotten the idiot worked up, though in Moxi's case it was as likely to be an itch beneath his suit as a true emergency.

'I'm sorry to disturb you, Mister Freeman, though I think it's my duty to bring these matters to your attention.' Moxi continued breathlessly. 'It's about the deep rumblings of discontent I've been hearing over the past couple of days.'

'I'm not interested in the results of your twice-fried batarian curry,' Freeman snapped. 'Yesterday morning should have been more than enough to discourage any future experiments.'

'Yes, Sir, your threats were well-heeded, I assure you! No, these rumblings have been from the crew.' As clandestinely as any asari huntress or salarian STG operative, Moxi glanced about before leaning in close. 'It's been said that Xantar is on the warpath! Apparently, sums of credits have been disappearing from the budget. Not huge sums in of themselves but added together, they're quite a large amount.'

'I see,' Freeman replied sceptically, 'and where, pray, did you learn this top-secret information?'

'I overheard an extranet call between Xantar and Milana Orenya this morning. She made him swear to find the culprits at any cost. If he doesn't find out who's stealing from the company, she'll bring a criminal enquiry down on the entire studio!'

Freeman froze, his features set in panicked shock. 'Did…Orenya mention any suspects?'

Scratching the dome of his head with a stubby finger, Moxi shrugged after only a few moments. 'Not that I can remember.'

'Yes well, that doesn't exactly fill me with confidence, you know.'

'No, but Sir, I _do_ remember Xantar was suspicious of Rima and the other salarian, you know, the writers? He's been questioning them all afternoon.'

'I see,' Freeman responded, a trickle of nervousness leaking into his voice. 'I don't suppose you know what transpired between them?'

'Oh no, Sir, though they're both still here, so I can only assume Xantar found no evidence of foul play.'

Slowly, Freeman's lips broadened into a cunning grin and he slapped a hand on the shoulder of Moxi's suit.

'You know, my revolting little friend, after weeks of incompetence, putrescence and general idiocy, I think I may finally have found a use for you. Seeing as how we're unlikely to get Pallo back 'up and running' before we knock off, I deem it necessary to give you a simple task.'

'Yes, Mister Freeman!' Moxi replied gratefully. 'I'll be glad to help any way I can!'

_*****AFP*****_

Ganorn neared the door to Dana's dressing room with trembling reluctance. He raised a hand to the bright green control panel but stopped suddenly; his rough, brown skin a mere hair's breadth away from the glowing button. After several long seconds of indecision, he shook his head and swore, snatching away his hand.

'Spirits, what's wrong with me?' he whispered. 'I've acted alongside some of the most beautiful women of stage and screen. This should not be so difficult.'

He tried to rationalise his awkwardness but knew there was little point in doing so. What he felt transcended simple notions of lust or infatuation, his curse as an artist being that he let such feelings run wild through his heart, savouring them whenever he could. That knowledge angered Ganorn, and he paced the width of the empty corridor in his frustration. He didn't notice the door open with a sibilant rasp, and Dana's smooth voice rang out behind him, making him jump.

'I see Freeman actually got to you,' she said, matter-of-factly as her shining eyes drifted over Ganorn's revealing outfit.

Suddenly, the turian became very aware of his appearance and fumbled with his arms as he was caught between wanting to cover himself and placing them firmly by his sides. After a few moments, he came to realise that the first option was an impossibility and so he clamped his twitching limbs securely behind his back.

'Dana, I uh…' he mumbled. The gentle clink of his outfit's strap buckles interfered with his speech and he grew nervous very quickly. 'I just wanted to uh…say that um…I've decided to go ahead with the scene after all. It's only a short one. Painful, maybe,but it's necessary.'

Dana quirked a brow at the stony sense of duty in his tone. 'You turians really like to make everything sound like a military operation, don't you?'

'N-no, not at all!' Ganorn stammered, raising his hands. 'I'm simply saying that without this scene, we won't…that is, I…'

'Will get fired?' Dana finished. Her eyebrow was still raised in severe appraisal at Ganorn and the turian shuffled on the spot, suddenly uncomfortable.

'Yes,' he answered, dipping his head solemnly. His voice hung in the air for many long seconds before Dana lowered her eyes and looked away, biting her lip gently.

'I see,' she said thoughtfully before returning her clear, brilliant eyes to his. She held Ganorn helplessly in her gaze, though her voice held a strong note of disapproval. 'Shame. I thought you cared more about your artistic integrity than the money.'

Ganorn opened his mouth to reply but could not form the words. They had fallen from his lips, into the deep, yawning chasm his stomach had become. He was sickened by the truth in Dana's remark and could only stand mutely in the corridor, his cheap bondage gear softly clinking as the asari strode away. Her eyes lingered on him for several moments before she brought her head forward, holding it up confidently as her shapely hips swayed hypnotically.

Ganorn watched her leave, though it was without passion. He blinked hard, trying to force his senses to awaken once more but Dana's words had left a burning mark on his heart. Was she right, he wondered? Of course she was, and that she knew his own shame better than he did was a crime unforgivable. Clenching his fists, Ganorn came to a decision and walked away from her, back in the direction of his own room. He took in a deep breath of sour sweat and fresh leather, the stench firming his resolve. He was Ganorn Firaxis and he did not deserve this.


	3. Chapter 3

**A FORNAX PRODUCTION**

_By: Mothbanquet_

**Scene Three**

Captain Iu'Sa Vas Eline squirmed with increasing desperation under the thick ropes that bound her wrists. She did not know how it had come to this; her ship attacked and boarded, her crew wiped out with such ruthless efficiency and by a pirate no less. As her suit creaked with each movement, Iu'Sa stole a glance at the asari beside her. The woman was bound as she was, with her arms in front of her, though her legs were crossed in a position of meditation.

A Justicar, the pirate king had called her.

Iu'Sa had never heard of such a thing, though a cursory assessment had given the clever quarian all she needed to know. The Justicar was beautiful, even more so than the typical attractiveness Iu'Sa had come to expect from the aliens. The asari's eyes were closed in deep concentration and she did not move, showing an indifference to her surroundings that both awed and frightened the young quarian captain. The figure-hugging suit the Justicar wore was flexible yet strong, and thickened in the vital areas to offer additional protection without impeding movement. It was battle regalia, of that Iu'Sa had no doubt though the presence of a warrior did nothing to ease her anxieties.

Iu'Sa felt an odd sensation deep within her gut and she knew it had nothing to do with her inner fears. It pulled at her insides, twisting them ever so slightly, just enough to make her uncomfortable. It was like the sickening vibrations caused by a loose momentum dampener or wildly oscillating kinetic barrier and as soon as she felt it, Iu'Sa recognised it. The Justicar was a powerful biotic. The power radiated from her in throbbing waves, invisible and yet incredibly potent. Still, Iu'Sa could feel the rage in those terrible, furious pulses of energy and she knew then that the Justicar had suffered at Fisty's hands.

The thought made Iu'Sa's throat run dry and she turned her eyes to the ground in sudden hopelessness. If Fisty had gotten the better of such a powerful woman, then what chance would a mere quarian have? Had she been able to conceal her omni-tool then she might have stood a chance but the pirate crew had been thorough and removed the device before taking her aboard their vessel. Iu'Sa tried to bury her despair as she looked around.

Captain Fisty's private quarters were large but ill-kept. The dull, bronzed metal walls were cluttered with various collections of art and weapons, and some items that could have been classified as both.

Iu'Sa ran her eyes along a particularly beautiful spear and identified it as ancient asari, the sleek shaft of gleaming, blue-tinted wood gracefully giving way to an iron tip that still looked capable of rending flesh. Beside it lay a batarian cudgel, an ugly thing of brass and steel that made the spear seem all the more exquisite by comparison. She doubted any of the artefacts had been garnered peaceably and, shaking her head slowly, Iu'Sa let her shoulders sag.

It had only been a few hours since she had been in another man's cabin, its own furnishings so tasteful in both their beauty and arrangement. The man himself had outdone each and every one of the treasures on his bulkheads, stealing her heart as surely as these pirates had stolen Iu'Sa's crew.

'Maximus,' she whispered longingly into the silence and closed her eyes. Beneath her visor, a white glint caught the light as a tear wound its way over her skin in a silky line.

Beside her, the Justicar stirred and her eyes snapped open. The asari glanced at her curiously, her features filled with recognition.

'You speak of General Naughtius Maximus, yes?' the Justicar asked in a low, husky drawl.'

Iu'Sa nodded without looking at her. 'That's right.'

The Justicar's expression softened and returned her sapphire gaze to the walls in front of her. 'I see. Perhaps things are not as hopeless as they first seemed.'

'I don't know how you can say that,' Iu'Sa answered glumly. 'He's probably in another system by now.' With another woman, she failed to add as she raised her head. 'We're doomed, aren't we?'

'Hope is not yet lost,' the Justicar replied with a strength that drew Iu'Sa's gaze. The Justicar met her eyes without hesitation and spoke calmly. 'I am Orea Lovewind, follower of the Justicar Code. I was captured while investigating this pirate band out on Omega. I have been a prisoner here for four days now.'

The revelation hit Iu'Sa like the heady inertia of a relay jump and her eyes widened into pale discs behind the violet glass of her visor. This Justicar must have suffered horribly at the tentacles of Fisty and his crew over the past few days, most likely used in every way imaginable. The thought that Iu'Sa herself could share the same fate brought a sobering jolt of panic to the quarian. She had to get out, and the Justicar was the only one who could help her.

'I am Captain Iu'Sa Vas Eline,' she said formally, pushing strength into her voice. 'My ship was boarded only an hour ago and they brought me straight here.'

'Then the pirate king has something in mind for you. Usually new…acquisitions…are taken to the cargo hold, where they can be broken over the space of many weeks. That you have been brought straight to the captain's cabin can only mean one of two things. Either you are too valuable to let the crew have their way with, or…'

Orea's eyes shone with unfathomable sadness and the sorrow in her voice was unmistakable as she finished. 'Or Fisty has taken a _special _interest in you.'

The words chilled the flesh beneath Iu'Sa's exosuit and the quarian let out a deep, aching shudder. 'Is there no hope for us?'

'There is only little hope, but it is still hope nonetheless,' Orea said smoothly, with a confidence Iu'Sa could only envy.

Their attentions were snatched by the sudden hiss of the cabin door and both women narrowed their eyes in disdain as Captain Fisty entered the room. The hanar was visibly trembling with excitement and Iu'Sa felt a fresh surge of disgust. The pirate king was obviously pleased with his latest catch.

'And now it has a quarian to add to its collection,' the hanar droned. 'Most excellent. This one has been hunting for one of your kind for more than-'

An enormous crash interrupted Pallo and he turned in surprise to the source of the noise, his coloration fluctuating with both embarrassment and confusion. Surely it was not time for Ganorn's entrance yet, before his great villain's monologue? Another rumbling crash sounded from beyond the edge of the set's walls, this time accompanied by the thin smashing of glass. Raising a tentacle in warning, Pallo looked on with ravenous interest as Ganorn stumbled clumsily onto the set.

The turian's skin was even darker than usual and his face paint looked as if it had been applied with a bent toothbrush. The lashings of white were spattered in uneven lines across the width of his fringe, barely touching his mandibles before ending in a thick blob on his nose. His eyes were dull and glassy, and in his hand he waved a glittering glass decanter of luminous green liquid. He was completely naked save for an undersized prop hat; a wide-rimmed purple monstrosity with a feather sticking from it that wasn't even meant for the head of a turian.

'No so fasht!' Ganorn yelled out at the top of his voice, the liquor having removed his penchant for subtlety. 'I am Naughtius Maximus! Actor to a ruined career! Owner of a murdered sense of worth! And I will have my revenge, in this or…well, this life will actually do rather nicely!'

A short distance away, Freeman's hand rose to cup his forehead in silent lamentation. He could not even be bothered to shout 'cut'.

In his paralysed uncertainty, Pallo looked askance at Dana and Kia, both of whom were still kneeling and unable to rise even if they wanted to. Their gazes were firmly clamped on Ganorn as he staggered about the set, the bottle in his hand sloshing with each swaying movement.

Ganorn sniffed and attempted to stand still, pushing his shoulders back and lifting his chin. When he spoke, his voice snagged in his throat and the first few words came out as a squeak. 'How little you all must think of me.'

He looked about the cast and crew as he spoke, his eyes oddly fierce as they held each one of them in turn. 'Here I stand, the great Ganorn Firaxis, a man nominated for a Silver Moon for his part in Rikena's Etherium. Here I stand as a lesson in failure and degradation. _Look_ at me, all of you. Look at me and know that no matter what you decide, be it reality or the lie you choose to tell yourself, no matter what; it's all the same. Fame and fortune, respect and all that, it's all…it's all fleeting. At the end of the day, all you have is your last sodding bottle of whiskey and a bed of broken dreams and promises waiting for you when you sober up.'

Kia shifted awkwardly, her head turning as she gauged the reactions of everyone in the studio. No one seemed to want to make a move and stop Ganorn and so she settled back down, happy to wait out his outburst and be glad he was not looking in her direction. It was then she noticed Dana's expression.

The asari's eyes shimmered with liquid emotion and the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, teasing an expression of proud satisfaction. Kia could only wonder at it as Ganorn shouted again, whirling on the spot and sending sparkling drops of turian whiskey in every direction.

'But it's never too late! Everyone has the power to take hold of their own life,' he said and accompanied the words with a raised hand, clasping some invisible object tightly in his fingers. 'Everyone can take the reins of their future and shay _no_! I will _not_ be used in this way, no matter what, or who, or what anyone says!'

Ganorn's leg buckled suddenly and his arms windmilled as he stumbled backwards into a wall. The prop weapons display collapsed around him with a noisy clatter and a heavy axe fell onto his foot, making him hop and curse in pain.

'And to top it all off,' he mumbled, his voice muffled as he doubled over to test his now-sore foot, 'the only woman I endured all this for, the only thing that kept me returning to this daily humiliation, thinks I'm a coward. And she's right! I only decided to take action now, after I sold my soul and my dignity!'

He lifted his gaze and captured Dana in it, his flanging tones becoming solid and serious in an instant. 'I let myself down in her eyes. I am Ganorn Firaxis and I…do not deserve her.'

Silence descended on the studio and everyone appeared to be holding their breath, as if waiting for some kind of sign to release it. Dana held Ganorn's eyes in mute awe until eventually, the turian shook his head roughly and strode off the set and into darkness.

Ignoring the stupified stares of all around her, Dana shed her prop security cuffs with a deft flick of her wrist and followed him.

As the rest of the crew became unstuck and began to murmur their thoughts on what they had witnessed, Moxi approached Freeman carefully. The director still had his face buried in a hand and Moxi knew well enough to be careful when Freeman was enraged. The impact marks of a dozen hard, sharp and heavy objects still littered the volus' body beneath the suit, each a testament to Freeman's temper and somewhat preternatural throwing skills.

'Oh, Mister Freeman,' Moxi began, his distorted voice filled with sympathy. 'Don't despair! Things aren't all that bad, really. Perhaps we can find another actor?'

'Another actor?' Freeman replied waspishly from behind his hand before removing it and glaring at his squat subordinate. 'You really are thicker than elcor breast milk, aren't you, Moxi? Do you honestly think that we're going to be able to cast and shoot every one of Garn's scenes again before five 'o clock tomorrow?'

'Well, Sir, technically they won't be re-shoots.'

'Oh yes,' Freeman muttered, 'how silly of me. A scene can only be re-shot if it was filmed in the first place, and not had its camera bots operated by absurd, fat little specks of pointless genetic material like you.'

Moxi let out a low, wheezing chuckle. 'Your flattery means a lot to me, Mister Freeman, but believe me when I say we have nothing to worry about for I have a cunning plan.'

'A cunning plan?' Freeman asked, his eyebrow raised sceptically. 'Is this plan going to be better than your bright idea to swap the dildo batteries with miniature element zero drives?'

'That was a little ill-advised, perhaps,' Moxi replied, wagging a stubby finger, 'but the results were most intriguing!'

'I don't know if you could call it intriguing. Kia passed out into a five-hour coma at the very sight of them and it took several more to get Dana out of the ceiling, though I still don't know what propelled her up there; her orgasm or the mass effect field that ballooned around her when she switched it on.'

'Still, Mister Freeman, it made quite an effective climax to the story.'

Freeman ignored the unintended pun. Of course it was unintended. Moxi wouldn't know wit if it turned blue, grew head-tentacles and gyrated its crotch in front of him for hours on end.

'Well,' Moxi said, 'it would've done if…'

'If you'd have switched the cameras on,' Freeman finished. He gave his scalp a good scratch before clapping Moxi on the shoulder in false affection. 'Well, while I would love to stay here with you all day and wax moronic, I'm afraid suicide beckons. This plan of yours will just have to wait until I'm a lump of frozen human in orbit around Illium.'

As he turned, Freeman hesitated and looked back at his volus compatriot. 'By the way, that little job I asked you to do yesterday?'

Moxi saluted proudly. 'Mission accomplished, Sir! I transferred the program from the datapad you gave me to Xantar's terminal with great haste and speed, just as you asked!'

'Did anyone see you?'

'No, Mister Freeman, Sir!'

'Good,' the director said with a sly, oozing grin. 'Then it looks like my little trip out the nearest airlock can wait. Now get out of my sight at once. I need to think of a way out of this little mess of ours before Milana Orenya arrives this afternoon or we're all deader than an asari maiden's innocence.'

Giving another clumsy salute, Moxi waddled off and Freeman shook his head in exasperation. 'If only natural selection had found its way to Irune.'

_**~~AFP~~**_

'Quarians are people too!' shouted the hairy, foul-smelling creature. His coarse voice belted out in putrid, lentil-filled grunts of effort, making the batarian security guard grimace as he held him back.

'Shame on you people!' the thing cried out again as shaggy, unwashed hair crept over his eyes with every syllable. 'You are responsible for the exploitation of the helpless! You take innocent quarians who have nowhere else to turn and make them your unwilling slaves to this sick industry!'

Xantar squinted, unable to tell if the rancid little animal was human. It certainly was human-shaped, with two arms and two legs, though his clothing was loose and seemed to have been merely draped over a malnourished frame in stinking drabs. The cheap materials of his pants and jacket were stained with what looked like months of muck and food detritus and his hair was in even worse condition, being nothing more than a straggly mass of filthy, straw-coloured fibres.

The batarian guard lost his patience and gripped the protestor by the collar of his jacket, roaring his frustration. 'That's enough out of you, human! Stay outside with the rest of your vermin!'

Nearby, Xantar let out a deep rumble of discontentment. He knew the guard was not referring to humans by the word 'vermin', but rather the multilateral congregation of species that had accumulated in the station's hangar bay, apparently protesting the use of Kia in the movie. Freeman had called them 'hippies', though Xantar had not known what to make of them at first. He did not even know how they got into the shuttle bay, but the gathering had been there when he arrived, brandishing banners and placards and chanting the most irritating of songs alongside a badly-tuned human instrument. Freeman had referred to it as a 'gitarr' and Xantar had never heard anything quite so awful.

Pallo floated up to the elcor, pulsing with worry. 'This one is concerned, Xantar. This is the third time one of these 'QRA' activists has been able force entry into the studio. Kia was quite upset upon seeing them on her arrival and it may impact on her ability to work today.'

Xantar's sigh made the ground tremble. 'Sympathetically; I understand the appearance of the Quarian Rights Alliance has come at a bad time, but we cannot deviate from the schedule. We have less than forty-eight hours left and on top of the recent outbreak of thievery, any further setbacks will mean the end of this production. Regrettably; Kia must persevere, for the sake of all our careers.'

Pallo raised a tentacle in objection, though it faltered after a moment. The hanar knew and respected Xantar. The producer was fair and respectful of his employees, and even if Dana had not whispered of the troubles facing the studio Pallo would have believed him. Sinking slightly, Pallo glowed softly with resignation.

'It sees your point. It will do its best to support Kia at this time.'

'Gratefully; thank you, Pallo. Your friendship with Kia is a great help to us, and a reflection of your value as a whole to this studio. I hope yesterday's incident with Dana did not trouble you too greatly.'

'Oh,' Pallo said, suddenly nervous. 'It was no trouble at all to this one, not at all.'

The slight change in manner was not lost on Xantar and he inclined his great head. 'With mild concern; is something wrong, Pallo?'

'No,' the hanar replied immediately. 'This one is simply a little tired with everything that has happened. If you will excuse it, Xantar, this one must prepare for this afternoon. It overheard one of the salarian writers saying he had finally completed the ending to this movie and it anticipates a long night ahead.'

'With concealed relief; that is good to hear. Milana Orenya is due to arrive shortly and she will be most pleased with this turn of events. Thank you, Pallo, for this excellent news.'

As he turned away, Pallo thought briefly about telling Xantar that only one of the salarians had been present, and his words of triumphant exclamation had been half-cackled in an all-too maniacal fashion. No, he told himself, best to leave that particular mollusc with its shell on.

Kia was not far away, and Pallo rippled brightly as he spotted her at the water cooler, her head sagging with forlorn regret. His heart heavy, he floated over to her and immediately noted the nutrient paste tube in her hand. It was full and unopened, and their break had ended over half an hour ago.

'You have not touched your food again, Kia,' he said on his approach. 'You promised this one you would try and eat a little.'

The quarian's suit creaked gently as she clutched a hand to her stomach absently. Her reply was sullen. 'I'm sorry, Pallo. I'm really not hungry right now. I tried, I really did but…'

'Are you troubled? By the protesters outside?'

Kia sighed, the sound barely a whisper of air that sent her mouth-lamp fluttering in a soft rhythm of flashes. 'It's odd. I don't know whether I should be glad they care about my well-being or angry that not one of them have asked what _I _actually want. They complain that I'm being exploited but they haven't offered a way back to the Migrant Fleet either. I just wonder if they really care about what happens to me.'

Pallo deflated slightly as he was filled with confusion. 'This one does not understand. Why does it matter what those people think? It gets the impression they are simply here to disrupt our work.'

'Surely it can't be as simple as that?' Kia asked, shaking her head. 'It's kind of nice to think that there's another way. I…I was never totally happy with doing this to begin with, you know that.'

His tentacles twitching slightly, Pallo gripped a plastic cup in a tentacle and filled it with water from the cooler. The action confounded him, as his species didn't even drink in the same manner as others but he moved without thought, his body filled with numb worry at the direction of the conversation.

'What is on your mind, Kia? Do you wish to leave?'

The young quarian didn't answer immediately, choosing instead to gaze longingly into the large, deep blur of the water bottle atop the cooler. Through the heavy, round bottle, everything appeared warped, misshapen. It seemed to be a perfect representation of her thoughts.

'I don't know what I want,' she finally murmured. 'I think I just want a clear path ahead, for the future to be free of doubt and ambiguity.'

'This one believes everyone desires the very same thing,' Pallo said, turning slightly to face the rest of the bustling studio. 'But it doubts even the Enkindlers themselves had such powers.'

Something came over Pallo, then. It was only a subtle shift in the air around him but Kia sensed it all the same. The quarian lifted her head questioningly but Pallo spoke before she could and the sudden change in the very language he used said all that needed to be said.

'I will find a way, Kia. For my dearest friend, it is all I can do.'

_**~~AFP~~**_

It was late afternoon by the time Milana Orenya's shuttle arrived. Xantar felt an odd twitch deep in his stomach, not unlike bad po-po fruit and he was thankful that only another elcor could have detected the foulness in the air around him. His species communicated a great deal through scent and Xantar was certain his own distinctive odour of rotten mulberries and waste would be enough to make the staunchest of his kind retch.

Before him, the modest shuttle bay of the Fornax orbital studios hissed with overloaded pressure valves and thrummed with heavily-taxed kinetic barriers. Only two shuttles were docked, civilian models of the Alliance Kodiak design, acquired at an auction on the Citadel a few months ago.

A much more expensive model roved into view beyond the shimmering blue veil of the kinetic barrier, a shining, sleek shape against the black carpet of space. The craft passed through the barrier with a low hum and the engines pitched and whined as they tasted the station's atmosphere.

Xantar shuffled on his knuckles impatiently as the shuttle touched down with a piercing hiss and his mouth flaps twitched when the doors opened immediately, swinging up with agonising laziness even before the shuttle had fully touched the ground.

Milana's thin legs swung out and she dropped the last few inches, staggering slightly as her dark heels hit the ground awkwardly. Her body emerged a moment later, a curved vision of asari beauty made stern by a sharp black business dress. The expression on her face was blank as she straightened and locked eyes with Xantar instantly, as if she'd known where to find him right from the beginning.

The elcor groaned inwardly. The look on her face could have meant anything but he knew she had nothing to be happy about. He could practically taste her rage like bitter wine in his throat. It made his elbows weak. She approached him, neither smiling nor scowling and as her lips parted, Xantar braced himself.

'Xantar,' Milana said stiffly. Then, her lips curled into a smile. 'You're a genius!'

Xantar blinked hard. 'Surprised…_what?_'

She continued, suddenly overjoyed as she touched his arm, guiding him towards the hangar's exit. 'You know, when I stepped into that shuttle I was ready to nail your big, grey ass to the wall. I mean seriously, I was getting ready to take you and Freeman to the fucking cleaners, but a quick look at the studio's accounts on the way over proved how wrong I was to doubt you.'

'Confusedly…I am confused.'

'What's to be confused about?' she went on. Her lean blue hands cut arcs in the air as she gestured enthusiastically. 'I asked to you find who was taking our money and you not only got the credits back, but almost doubled the balance sheet!'

Again Xantar thanked his creators that Milana could not detect the massive influx of emotion that churned the air around him. She continued, oblivious.

'I don't know how you did it and to be perfectly honest, I don't care. I'm just glad we managed to pull something back from this.' She stopped suddenly and looked at Xantar sharply.

It was only then the elcor noticed the dark rings around her eyes and the paleness of her skin. Milana had always been somewhat gaunt and pasty for an asari, but she also trembled, a muted shaking that made her look as if she were trying to suppress a bout of wind.

She fixed Xantar with a stare that displayed the whites of her eyes. 'In fact, I'm so impressed with your ability to get the job done, I have an offer for you.'

Xantar's great lungs heaved in a gasp. 'With a heavy sense of dread, I'm afraid I am not available, Milana, flattered as I am.'

'What?' Milana asked, frowning. 'I'm not asking you out, you fool!'

The elcor released his breath. 'Relieved. That is good. I would not even want to contemplate the logistics of-'

'Xantar,' Milana interrupted, 'shut up and listen to me. I'm only going to say this once.'

_**~~AFP~~**_

Rima bit his bottom lip in worry, turning the dark flesh an even richer hue of red. A small glint of green worked its way out and the salarian frowned as he realised he had bitten down a little too hard. He gave a small shrug as he stormed through the studio, weaving between two batarian techies who grumbled alien curses at him as he passed.

His stomach churned. He hated being the bearer of bad news at the best of times. He'd hated it when he'd been forced to tell his family of their great plan to become successful screen writers, remembering with perfect clarity their ashen faces as they watched a promising breeding contract get flushed right out of their cloacas.

He'd hated it when telling Listor that their only chance to avoid starvation and obscurity, though they couldn't decide on which was worse, was to write a screenplay for a Fornax movie. And, of course, he still hated it now as he approached Freeman.

The director's dark eyebrows were crushed together in deep concentration and his usually pale skin was mottled with barely-concealed rage. Or perhaps it was nausea. Rima honestly couldn't tell with the prickly human.

'Mister Freeman,' Rima announced at his shoulder.

'Ah yes, if it isn't the lesser of two idiots,' Freeman sneered. 'What is it this time? Finally gotten fed up of that Tupari-addicted basket case you hang around with?'

'Ah,' Rima sputtered. He could not tell him that Listor had run off that morning to check into the Betick Forash clinic in Nos Astra at Rima's own urging. The Tupari had finally proven too much for his erstwhile partner to handle and it was with a heavy heart Rima had finally sent Listor away. At least picking up the entirety of their paycheck himself would provide some solace.

'Mister Freeman,' the salarian began again, 'I have some very good news for you!'

Freeman glanced at him with raised eyebrows. 'Unless you've managed to discover a way to reverse time itself and warn me against undertaking this joyous little endeavour, I believe your enthusiasm is a bit premature.'

Rima was unperturbed, and raised a finger in triumph. 'On the contrary, maestro, I have not only shed the weak link of our creative ensemble, but also managed to complete our contractual obligations!'

Freeman's reaction was more muted than Rima had anticipated, being little more than a puzzled frown. 'Are you sure?'

'Of course!' Rima exclaimed and held up a datapad. 'I have in my very hand not only the title but the entire ending! A work of art, a masterpiece!'

'Yes,' Freeman murmured doubtfully, 'well forgive me for not leaping for joy but considering it took two of you three weeks to come up with _nothing_, it's going to take a little more than brainless optimism to win me over.'

Rima grew desperate and pressed the datapad to Freeman's chest. 'Please, just give it a look. I promise that if you're dissatisfied I will bear myself away on the next shuttle immediately!'

'Preferably by way of the station's engine wash,' Freeman mumbled as he looked down at the datapad. Immediately his eyes snapped back up. 'Naughtius Maximus: Call of Booty?'

Rima nodded. 'Yes.'

'This is your title?'

'Yes.'

A look of supreme exhaustion washed over Freeman's face. 'You do realise this title sort of…implies that it is part of a series of films?'

'Y-yes, Mister Freeman,' Rima stammered. 'It's a play on words, you see; instead of "call of duty", it's call of _booty!_'

'So assuming people actually know who Naughtius Maximus is, which is unlikely seeing as this is the character's _first_ appearance, the only clue as to what the movie is about lies within a pun that could have come from the mind of a lobotomised pyjack?'

Deflated, Rima bobbed his head. 'Yes, Mister Freeman.'

'You do understand that if this ending isn't _monumentally_ good, chances are I'll have your legs cut off, marinated in garlic and sent back to France as an exciting new hors d'oeuvre?'

Rima didn't know who this "France" was but they sounded simply awful. He kept his mouth firmly closed, his heart pounding as Freeman looked up at him after a few seconds of intense reading.

'This is it? _This_ is your masterpiece?'

The salarian let out a quiet, nervous laugh. 'I know, right? It's genius!'

Freeman turned his eyes back down to the datapad and read aloud from it. 'Maximus shoots the reactor on Fisty's ship, blowing it up while Iu'Sa and Orea crash land inexplicably on a random jungle planet without any explanation whatsoever. Cut to black. The end.'

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, Rima thought to himself with a wince. Actually, no, it hadn't seemed like a good idea at all but what choice did he have? Half the studio's writing team had been banished, their publishers had forced a deadline that precluded a satisfying conclusion to the narrative and the project director was a lying, self-obsessed lunatic. Rima shrugged. It still beat working in the games industry.

'See, it's a masterful piece of abstract symbolism!' he gushed, almost believing his own lies. 'It allows the audience to draw their own conclusions, lets them ponder the outcomes within the limitless boundaries of their own imaginations!'

'Utter crap,' Freeman replied slowly. 'Aside from the fact that this ending bears no resemblance to the rest of the film and makes no logical sense whatsoever, it will require a leading actor to actually shoot it, something of which we're sadly bereft at the moment.'

'Oh,' Rima responded, downcast. He clutched his bony chin between two fingers. 'To be honest, we can just cut Maximus from that scene entirely. I don't think anyone will notice since people don't usually get to the end of a porno anyway.'

Freeman sighed. 'In the absence of time, money and better writers, I'm forced to accept. See if you can find Dana and Kia, we'll shoot it right away.'

Unwilling to test his good fortune, Rima nodded and quickly made his way off in search of the actresses in question. He saw Kia in the distance and was tempted to follow, though the thought of catching Dana in her Justicar outfit was too much for him to resist. Smiling, Rima's pace increased as he wandered the set.

_**~~AFP~~**_

The loud groan, similar to that of a wounded animal, was what finally drew Dana's attention. Though she didn't drink herself anymore, she knew the sound well. It was the stinging talons of an encroaching hangover digging into someone's brain and she followed the sound into a dark room off the empty corridor she had been searching.

Even if the storage closet hadn't been tiny, it would have been impossible to miss Ganorn. The turian was still naked but had lost the hat, something which Dana oddly lamented.

'That was quite a show,' she said, announcing her sudden presence with all the grace of a tap dancing elcor. It was intentional, of course, and she enjoyed his response.

Ganorn was suitably startled, and tumbled off the flimsy box he had precariously perched on in his panic. He stood up quickly, holding himself bolt-upright in the manner of someone who was trying desperate not to look drunk.

'I-I'm so sorry, Dana,' he mumbled. The paint on his face had smeared further, becoming a streak of white that gave him a ghostly appearance.

To his shock, the asari laughed delicately. 'Why? It was the most interesting thing I've seen in centuries! Oh, if it'd been a smooth shoot then I would've been annoyed at the interruption but _nothing_ about this mess has been smooth so far.'

She stepped up to Ganorn, close enough for him to smell her sweet air of lotion and day-old perfume.

'I have to admit, when I first met you, I thought you were a boring old stiff, someone who was all about turian dignity, who didn't know how to have a good time. I liked the actor in you but the way you went on and on about Freeman…'

Ganorn looked away in embarrassment. 'That man has cost me more than I can possibly describe.'

Dana placed a hand on his face, interrupting him as she guided his eyes to hers. 'No. I think he's set you free. Look at you. You're naked, drunk and so very _interesting_. You're still an actor, Ganorn, but you're also _you_.'

A dark gap appeared between the turian's lips, hovering between them as he struggled to find his voice. Was it so simple? Had he been hiding behind the veneer of flawless professionalism all this time?

To his own surprise, Ganorn grinned. 'You know, I think you may be right. I don't have to let those hacks make me feel inferior, not Freeman, not the Ciptritine Artists Guild, not anyone! I have more talent and personality in one talon than the rest of them have in their entire bodies! I don't need to hide anymore!'

Dana beamed at him before slowly snaking her arms around his neck and pulling herself close.

The motion held an intimacy that made Ganorn's heart hammer in his chest. It was nothing like her movies. It was sensual, even a little vulnerable, and it was all for him.

'You are Ganorn Firaxis,' she murmured into his ear, 'and you deserve more.'

The words hung around them like a mist, making Ganorn shudder. He had to force strength into his voice, and his flanging brogue wavered at first until he found it. 'I cannot stand another second of this place. I'm leaving, Dana. Will you come with me?'

She pulled back slightly and her eyes were full of mischief. 'My contract with this train wreck of a studio expired yesterday. Let's get the hell out of here.'

Grinning Ganorn, pulled her firmly into his nude grasp, making her gasp aloud with excitement.

'I do still have some contacts within the theatrical agencies of the Citadel. I think they would be interested to hear of Ganorn Firaxis' return to the stage and screen. Of course, they are always on the lookout for promising new talent…'

Dana grinned at that and leaned in to kiss him. Her Justicar costume creaked as she raised a leg behind her, shutting the door behind them with a toe and hiding them from the eyes and ears of anyone passing by. The sounds of muffled exertion and ecstasy soon followed, with no one around to hear them.

_**~~AFP~~**_

'What do you mean "they're gone"?'

Freeman's eyes bored into the batarian security guard, who shuffled nervously under his scrutiny.

'As I said, Sir, they took a shuttle off-station twenty minutes ago down to the surface. They didn't give an explanation and I didn't think it was my place to ask.'

Freeman's mouth moved without sound. It felt dry and gritty as the reality of Ganorn and Dana's departure took hold. He didn't bother to ask the hapless guard if they'd said whether or not they were coming back. That should have been obvious enough to anyone.

Staggering away from the entrance to the shuttle bay, Freeman lowered himself into a crouch and curled his hands over his head, until he was a skinny ball of despair and frustration.

He did not hear the rhythmic hiss of Moxi's respirators until the volus had stopped by his side and even then, Freeman did not want to look. He wanted to remain there, curled up in his little knot of isolation, free of idiots and imbeciles. He heard Moxi's mechanical voice. It sounded infuriatingly calm.

'Are you all right, Mister Freeman?'

Freeman's muffled voice came from somewhere between his arms and his legs. 'Oh, just fine, Moxi. Never better. What in Hades would make you think otherwise?'

'Oh yes, I did just hear about Ganorn's departure but I have been anticipating this for some time and I'm pleased to say I've come up with a solution.'

'And what could that possibly be?' Freeman asked.

He knew he shouldn't look, that Moxi would even get excited about putting his suit on the right way around in the morning but a sheer sense of morbid curiosity made Freeman unfurl like a drab flower. He kept his hands firmly pressed into the waxy skin of his face as his legs straightened, and only when he was certain he could finally look did he uncover his eyes.

Moxi had outdone himself. An over-sized top hat sat on his domed head, above a suit that had been re-coloured to vaguely resemble a tuxedo. He awkwardly gripped a cheap, thin cane of black-painted wood while perhaps most pointlessly of all, a monocle had been stuck over his left eye. What purpose it served, Freeman could not imagine and he could only ask one question.

'Moxi. Why?'

'I am Moxi no longer,' the volus proudly announced, hefting his cane. 'May I introduce Wilson. I am the other leading man, _old bean!'_

Words were difficult to find for Freeman as he sized up the proposed addition to his cast.

'…Wilson?'

'Yes, old chap,' Wilson replied affably and took a deep breath before speaking again. 'And I do say, this is a spiffing spot of derring-do you've got going on here! Why, it reminds me of the most delightful soiree I attended over on the Citadel a few years ago. There were the most wonderful-'

'Moxi,' Freeman interrupted, burying his face into his hands, 'first of all, shut up and never say anything else for as long as you live. Then, go away and take off that ridiculous outfit, and be thankful that the fine print of your indentured servitude contract forbids me from killing you in the most brutal and sadistic ways ever devised by the minds of man.'

Moxi's mouth-lamp flickered as he considered speaking then, slowly, he conceded the point. He waddled away, narrowly missing Pallo as they passed in the corridor.

The hanar approached Freeman in a fluster, his tentacles raised in horror. 'Mister Freeman, this is most terrible! She is gone! She has been taken!'

Freeman grimaced, an expression of agony, apathy and immense, uncontrollable defeat. He sighed as he spoke, so that his words were little more than a disinterested drone.

'Yes, Pallo? What is it now?'

Pallo's body pulsed with a multitude of blues and purples, like the dance floor of a Nos Astra nightclub. 'Kia has been kidnapped by the extremists, the ones protesting outside! She went outside to take a break and never returned. When it went out there to investigate, the protesters were gone and Kia with them!'

'Oh _god_,' Freeman moaned, clutching his head. 'Why is this happening to me? First Garn and Dana elope into the bastard sunset, now Kia's been snatching by a bunch of unwashed, malnourished hippies! When will it all end?'

'This one must leave at once,' Pallo said, ignoring Freeman's groans. 'It knows the QRA terrorists can be easily traced through Illium's docking authorities. If it moves now, it may not be too late!'

Freeman waved his hand dismissively. 'Oh yes, by all means, you're only my last remaining actor so please bugger off before I decide to fire the rest of the crew. In fact, I might just burn the set down if only to save time.'

The hanar did not seem to hear him and turned to leave. Before he left, however, Pallo pointed a slender appendage at Freeman and spoke quietly.

'Oh, and this one must remind you of article thirty-eight, clause _b_ of Kia's contract, which states that in the event of kidnapping, arson, extortion or extreme buggery, any exosuit-wearing employee is subject to compensation equal to two-fifths of their total income. It also believes this is in addition to all monies owed for services rendered unless exempted in advance by completion of Illium servitude contract waiver _32c_. It would be happy to provide you a copy of the clause, if you require.'

Silently, Freeman waved him away and Pallo obliged eagerly. As the hanar wandered off, Freeman cringed. All of his actors had gone and it wouldn't take a genius to guess that without a cast, there could be no movie. The fates had conspired to bring his project down like a gaggle of cackling crones, building his hopes and dreams, only to disappoint at the very last moment. The metaphor was too close to that of his own sexual performances for comfort and it was almost with relief that he spotted Xantar lumbering towards him.

The sight of the elcor raised Freeman's spirits a little and the director even managed a smile. At least he had a Plan B.

Xantar was hesitant as he approached. 'Carefully; hello, Jon. You look unwell.'

'Yes, well, having your entire cast walk out on you in quick succession will do wonders for your complexion. So, I hear you've been on the hunt for whoever it is that's been draining our accounts. Tell me, have you found the culprit?'

The nervous edge to Freeman's voice went unnoticed as Xantar shook his head. 'Uncomfortably, the situation has been resolved.'

'Uncomfortably?' Freeman's brow twisted in confusion. 'But surely that's a good thing?'

Xantar's massive head swung from side to side in the clearest physical sign of surprise he could give. 'Astonished; you can read me like a book, Jon. Yes, there is something I must tell you. With awkward satisfaction, I have managed to somehow retrieve not only the funds for the studio's account, but also a large amount in addition. We now have more money than when we started.'

If Xantar noticed the colour suddenly drain from Freeman's face, he did not say, and the human uttered a single word in response.

'What?'

Bobbing his head, Xantar's eyes narrowed. 'Somewhat ashamedly; I don't know how the money found its way into the account but I will not ignore good fortune when it comes my way. Milana Orenya was so impressed with my performance that she has offered me a job as her fraud investigation consultant. I will have my own office in Fornax headquarters in Nos Astra, with a huge salary and pension plan.'

Freeman's eyes were dull and listless. 'You…have another job. The money in the studio's…'

Xantar did not let him finish his dazed mumbling. 'Regrettably, I am afraid this is where we must part ways, Jon. I am finally able to pursue a lucrative career without the stress and humiliation of pandering to egos and hubris. With false affection, I wish you the best of luck with the rest of the production. You will need it.'

Some part of Xantar's long-held excitement finally surfaced as he held his head up high and raised his voice into a deep boom.

'Triumphantly; so long, bitches!'

And just like that, Xantar was gone.

Freeman felt the muted thumps of his footsteps long after he had disappeared from sight into the shuttle bay. The actors and actresses had left. His producer had deserted him. What else could go wrong?

As if by divine providence, Moxi shuffled back up to him sans the top hat and cane. Freeman' head turned towards him with malevolent sloth, his words dripping from his lips like poison, slow and deliberate.

'Moxi. When I gave you that datapad and asked you to run the hack on Xantar's office terminal, there were two numbers on the program. My account number and that of the studio.'

'Yes, Mister Freeman.'

'And the instructions on the datapad told you to transfer the balance from the studio account to mine.'

'I believe so, Mister Freeman.'

Freeman took a knee and smiled a shark's smile. 'So would you like to explainto me why Xantar just came by to tell me that the studio account now holds all the money I've been pinching from Fornax for the past three months?'

Moxi took a deep breath. 'Whoops.'

'Whoops?' Freeman repeated. 'That is your answer, your great explanation? I find myself penniless, director of a movie without a cast and crew, with an ending that can be likened to a capacious mound of vorcha excrement. My great and cunning plan to steal the studio's funding instead finds the fruits of my labours firmly in the one place I _didn't_ want them to be. And all you have to say to that is…whoops?'

'Well, Mister Freeman,' Moxi replied innocently, 'accidents happen!'

'Accidents.' Freeman clasped his hands over Moxi's shoulders and the thick suit depressed in his grip as his fingers closed over the flabby flesh. 'You know, Moxi, it's at times like this, when a man's great schemes come to a crashing halt and all options desert him that he must ask himself one question.'

'What is that, Mister Freeman?' Moxi asked.

Freeman's mouth widened into a smile. It could have been one of extreme desperation, or even insanity, but behind their glazed look Freeman's eyes were ablaze with one final idea.

'Do you still have the top hat and monocle?'

Behind his mask, under his rasping breath, Moxi grinned.

'Indubitably, old bean!'

_**~~~AFP~~~**_

_Later that afternoon, Milana Orenya made the call. The studio was shut down and Naughtius Maximus: The Call of Booty was brought to a premature end._

_Ganorn revived his theatrical career for a short time, returning to the stage and starring in several plays to moderate critical acclaim. He then made the mistake of swallowing a thimbleful of ryncol shortly before taking to the stage in the prestigious Dilinaga Concert Hall on the Citadel. It took several hours to extinguish the fires he started, though the incident, along with the guidance of his beautiful wife, Dana Nylendi, only added to his new edgy, rock-star persona. Several film role offers followed and Ganorn went on to become a prolific star in the movie industry._

_Kia'Toresh Nar Qwib Qwib was released by the Quarian Rights Alliance back onto the streets of Illium after they admitted they did not have the facilities to assure her wellbeing. Luckily for the quarian, a lawsuit brought against Fornax claiming damages as well as the breaching of the terms of her contract as an exosuit-wearing employee was settled for a sum of twenty-thousand credits. Thanking her 'guardian angel', Kia used the money to return swiftly and safely to the Migrant Fleet._

_Rima enjoyed his earnings for only six weeks before being confronted by an incensed Listor. The latter, having escaped from a batarian-run 'rehabilitation clinic', tracked down his former partner and in a fit of Tupari Sports Drink-induced bloodlust, murdered him by way of empty Tupari bottle. He is still wanted by Nos Astra law enforcement and is considered armed and slightly dangerous._

_Only a year after the closure of the ill-fated production, Milana Orenya died from a massive overdose of red sand. The asari dancer from whose belly Milana had enjoyed the drug was held by police for over forty-eight hours before being released, though the local hospital was unable to remove the shot glass from her belly button._

_Xantar, who had proven himself a reliable and dedicated employee of Milana's, eventually took over leadership of the Fornax offices on Illium and the company saw its best returns from the Terminus borders in living memory. Xantar went on to take the coveted top place in Illium Entertainment News' esteemed 'Nos Astra's Top Ten Executives' four times in 2135 alone._

_Wilson the volus became an overnight extranet sensation, earning fame and fortune for Moxi and his agent, the human Jon Freeman. Oddly, the fortune never quite found its way into Moxi's hands and tragedy struck the extranet legend during a Council-sponsored goodwill mission to the Terminus Systems. The Goodwill Ambassador to Karshan, as Moxi was then known, died when his ship crashed into the Hegemony's Imperial Palace. The batarian ruling regime's claims that he was piloting it at the time, and that Moxi himself was a master assassin sent by the Citadel, are still being_ _vigorously denied by the Council._

_**~~THE END~~**_


End file.
